


His Kink in Shining Armor

by cassiopea (nina_monk)



Series: The Burly Banner Series [7]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Incredible Hulk (2008)
Genre: Chubby!Bruce - Freeform, Feeder/Feedee dynamics, Gen or Pre-Slash, Iron Man 3 Spoilers, M/M, Mutual Weight Gain, Weight Gain, slightly chubby tony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 09:43:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8619514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nina_monk/pseuds/cassiopea
Summary: Bruce gained a lot of weight while living in the tower, but Tony never thought he’d start putting on weight, too. Or, what happens when Bruce discovers a new kink he never knew he had.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Story I wrote for one of my tumblr pals, over two years ago(!)

Bruce damn well knew it wasn’t entirely Tony’s fault but he couldn’t help feeling a little vindicated. See, after living in the Tower for a few years, he’d put on a few pounds. Okay, more than a few. Maybe a lot...? _Fine_ , it was more like a metric fuckton. Regardless, gaining weight hadn’t mattered much in the beginning because he’d arrived so terribly underweight; being on the run meant he either ate tiny, dubious meals or he didn’t eat anything. So in the end he forgot how to eat regularly and forgot how to eat well. 

But now, food was plentiful 24/7. He had a regular job, and his job was an elevator’s ride away from his residence. The break rooms at his job were filled with free snacks, begging to be eaten, and his life was wonderfully stationary for once. He hadn’t been running – let alone _walking_ – for more than twenty months, so…yeah.

When he hit 305 pounds last month it wasn’t a huge surprise, but Tony was definitely part of it. Tony was like a mother hen, chasing him all over the tower and making sure he ate enough. And when Bruce rediscovered how good Tony’s personal chefs were, saying no to second and third helpings never crossed his mind; Tony ordered the richest, highest caloric foods money could buy and he had this face like someone’d shot Butterfingers if Bruce didn’t finish everything, even after being stuffed to the brim, and overeating became an easy, lazy habit, and Tony made sure his favorite sweets were _always_ around, and…

Bruce sighed and absently rubbed his stomach. And so. Getting fat had been irrefutably, absolutely inevitable. He could’ve fought it before it got out of control, but the longer the pounds piled on the more he liked having his huge stomach nestling in his lap. It reminded him he was comfortable, safe, and well-fed. And so what if he thought, from time to time, that getting a _little_ bigger wouldn’t be too bad–

“Oh, come on… _dammit_!”

And then there was karma. And Tony.

Bruce hid his dirty grin behind a book and tried not to laugh. It was bound to happen because. Tony was virtually housebound and he ate right along with Bruce - including some of the physicist’s mid-morning and mid-afternoon snacks (meals). Bruce didn’t sayanything when the other man’s pants looked a trifle snug, because he really had no right to judge.

But to be fair, there was another reason for Tony’s weight gain, and it had less to do with what he put in his mouth. All kidding aside Tony hadn’t been able to engage in any strenuous exercises for several weeks, due to his multiple surgeries. His doctors were more cautious due to his specific circumstances, and early on Bruce had to force Tony to eat because the man hadn’t had much of an appetite. But he definitely made up for that later.

Yes, indeed.

Bruce chewed his lip and stilled a small smirk, feigning obliviousness. “What’s wrong?”

Tony stormed into the room. “Have you been using the dry cleaning service on Third Avenue, or the one in West Village?”

“West Village, same as always.”

“Huh. Well, shit.”

Bruce’s eyes floated up from his book. He hadn’t been reading a damn thing for the last five minutes because he’d been listening to Tony grunt and curse as he tried putting on his favorite black jeans.

“Ah, ah, ah. Not one fucking word.” Bruce could get away with the innocent look a little more these days, due to his fuller face and dimpled double chin, but Tony pinned him with a glare anyway.

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You were snickering behind that damn book, I could tell.” With an angry huff Tony peeled off his now-too tight jeans and tossed them into a corner of the room; he couldn’t even pull them over his hips. “This is your fault, y'know,” he grumbled.

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Mine?”

“Yeah, and don’t play dumb - you look like a rabid chipmunk when you play dumb.” Tony made a face. “You know what? Screw this hand-holding shit. I’m going for a run.”

Bruce slammed his book shut and all the soft teasing evaporated from his eyes. “Tony, we talked about this. How long has it been since your last surgery?”

“Bruce—“

Bruce growled between his teeth. “How _long_.”

Tony sighed and ran a hand over his beard. His fingers trailed the front of his chest, as if searching for the arc reactor, but they tapped a healing scar instead. “Nine weeks,” he murmured. He fanned out his fingers, protecting his rebuilt chest.

“That’s right,” Bruce said quietly. He could tell Tony still wasn’t comfortable with his body; the inventor was used to the cylindrical cavity, and the blue glow, and the soft purr of mechanical circuits in lieu of the natural lub-dub of a fully functioning heart. Maybe that was part of the problem, Bruce thought. Maybe, unconsciously, Tony had begun overeating to replace new feelings of emptiness.

Bruce’s lips thinned. “How long did the surgeons tell you to avoid heavy exercise?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Twelve. Twelve _fucking_ weeks.”

“Exactly. Now, I might not be a thoracic surgeon but I know a few things. Not only did you have heart surgery, but they rebuilt your sternum and shifted around your internal organs. They realigned your entire ribcage, Tony. The surgeons padded tissue and fat around your chest so it wouldn’t cave in, and now you want to destroy all that to go for a run, because you got a little goddamn _chubby_. No. Screw _that_ , Tony.” Bruce grabbed his book and angrily flipped through the pages. “You’re lucky your doctor didn’t sit you on your ass for six months, though I don’t know why the hell he didn’t.”

Qualified or not Bruce had appointed himself as Tony’s nurse-slash-caretaker as well as attending physician, so Tony getting away with anything? Not so much.

“Oh, _waah-waah_ ,” Tony countered with a small grumble, though there was no heat in his words. Sighing, he went to another room and came back wearing a pair of sweats before flopping next to Bruce. “ _This_ is still your fault.” He poked at the roll of bouncy fat spilling out from beneath his t-shirt. Bruce let his eyes roam; Tony really didn’t look fat. A little soft, sure, but he wasn’t _fat_. “If you weren’t such a great cook, and if I could exercise, I’d still have abs.”

Bruce chuckled. “Welcome to my world. Or rather, welcome to my world when you gain about a hundred more pounds.”

“Yeah, well, I think I’ve gained ten of ‘em.” Tony continued poking the small roll.

“More like fifteen.”

“You’re a bastard.”

Bruce shrugged. “You keep telling me you like me this way; I think your extra pudge does you good, too.”

Tony screwed up his face and was about to fire off a retort, but then he poked his little belly again. He jiggled it just the tiniest bit, and Bruce couldn’t help thinking that the jiggle was…pretty cute, in a way.

“But I’m…all squishy.”

Bruce flat out laughed. “You’re barely overweight.” And he shouldn’t have, considering, but he couldn’t help himself, and he tweaked Tony’s stomach. Just a little. Yes. It was cute, he thought, hiding his grin. Tony just glared at him.

“Fuck you.”

Bruce chuckled again. “You can still do the exercises your physio recommended, and you can go for gentle walks. Just no running or jogging.” 

“Bo-o-oring. Where’s the fun in that?”

Bruce shrugged. “Then live with it. But if you keep eating my meals with me, you’re bound to get pretty fat.”

Tony’s smirk turned a little dark. “Oh, I get it. I see how it is. A little revenge for the shoe on the other foot, huh?”

“No. Not at all.” Bruce paused too long, and then shyly ducked his head. “Okay, maybe a little,” he finally admitted. “But I wasn’t kidding. I think you look okay, and you can still gain a little more without it becoming a medical issue. Me, I have a built in immunity, but you should be more careful.”

Tony threw up his hands. “Then stop cooking such great meals!”

“So stop eating them.”

Tony let out a dramatic sigh. “You just wanna get me fat enough to bump bellies, or some shit.”

Bruce couldn’t stop his jaw from dropping a little, because the image hit him that hard. It was…intoxicating. Bruce couldn’t deny it. And the subsequent images that sauntered in and out of his mind were less than pure: Tony’s gut hanging over his belt, Tony busting shirt buttons, Tony wearing his clothes… the inability for either of them to touch when they saw one another face to face, because their bellies were in the way.

No. Not just intoxicating. It was fucking _erotic_.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood, gaping, because next thing he knew—

“Earth to Bruce,” Tony said, snapping his fingers in his face. Bruce blinked and adjusted his glasses, purposely ignoring the evil grin marching across Tony’s lips. “You in there, big guy?”

“Sorry. Well, in answer to your question, of course not,” Bruce said, clearing his throat. He hoped Tony hadn’t said anything else, because he couldn’t remember anything after the belly-bumping image. Tony caught his too-long pause, though, and he was on the trail like a wolf on prey. Bruce sighed internally. Maybe he should be more afraid for himself, than for Tony.

“Just…ah. Be careful, Tony.”

“Mmhmmp.” Tony suddenly yawned, though it was barely afternoon. He stretched his arms over his head, making a show of how far his shirt could ride up his chest, and then paraded his tiny half-moon of a belly in Bruce’s face. His eyes were purposely trained on Bruce, carefully watching how the scientist reacted. “I’m tired. I’m gonna take a nap.”

Bruce hoped he seemed relatively calm, but he couldn’t stop the slow blush creeping up his neck so he grabbed his book, pretending to read. “Yeah, you do that. I’ll be in here if you need me.”

“Heh. Okay.”

He could feel Tony’s eyes on him. “Go,” Bruce said, slowly leafing through a page.

“I will. In a second.”

Tony drew himself into Bruce’s personal space, so close that his chin nearly tapped the edge of Bruce’s book cover. _Calm_ , Bruce scolded himself. _Remain calm._

“But before I do,” Tony murmured. Can I…tell you something?”

“S-sure.” Bruce swallowed. _Here it comes—_

Tony huffed softly, and the air ruffled one of Bruce’s book pages. Bruce could feel his control slip. Ever so gently slipping...

“Bruce,” Tony whispered.

“Um…yeah?” He swallowed thickly.

“Gotta tell ya…your book is upside-down.”

“Wh…what–?” 

Tony howled and strolled towards his bedroom as Bruce fumbled with his book. Which was, indeed, upside-down. “It’s not—it’s _you_ , you…dammit, you surprised me,” he countered lamely.

“Sure, Brucie. Whatever.”

Bruce listened as Tony’s laugh, swallowed by the thickness of the walls, trailed down the hallway. He righted his book expecting to finish it – was it by Frenkel? Tyson? Foster? He wasn’t sure any more and had to double check the spine – but his mind grew occupied by…other things. Bruce hazarded a look towards Tony’s room but opted to watch television instead. Still, it was too late; for good or for ill the seed had been planted and Bruce had no idea what would happen, to either of them, once the idea matured.

He gulped again and stared blankly at the television, his mind tunneling deeper and deeper into the wormhole of his aberrations, of new theories that suddenly sprung unbidden. _Well_ , he thought, flipping to another random station. He unconsciously wet his lips. _On the other hand, maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing. For either of us._


End file.
